“I start unbuttoning my shirt, but can’t really decide on a way to make getting undressed in this space any less uncomfortable, so I just drop my pants.”
What I learned from a week on a hilltop with 50 queer writers.
“So we sit down and I pull out my life’s timeline and Officially Official Documents like WAH-BOOM! How you like them apples??”
An Autostraddle first.
“Will I have to leave my boxer briefs at home in lieu of high-waisted, thin, cotton lady panties under my kick ass uniform during Basic Training?”
Here’s the deal: I both like and am my body. I am a girl, ergo I have a girl’s body. It’s neat. You know what I think helped me to be comfortable with my body more than anything else? The US Army.
Some may call this need for speed insanity, others call it energy. I’m not sure how I feel because…feelings? Who has time for feelings?
“[My queer white friends] don’t know why it’s such a big deal for them to not do any of the stupid and obviously illegal things they tend to do if I’m the one behind the wheel.”
I never thought I’d see those mix tapes or that Samantha doll again
“Given the message of acceptance and sex positivity that the queer community so openly espouses, I was hopeful that I had finally found a niche where my sexuality would be respected and validated. To my dismay, passive discrimination was alive and well.”
There was a time I wanted kids; but there’s nothing like Midtown to put the rust on the hands of my biological clock. Why would anybody want to bring yet MORE humans into the world?
I’m a hairy short-haired sonuffabitch in plaid and denim that by that boy’s definition, and so many other definitions I’ve heard, is considered by society to be one of “those ugly lesbians”. And honestly, I ain’t even mad.
“When you’re surrounded by so many queers celebrating queer, you feel normal by default.”
“After being mocked by an older family member and packing my Belle Barbie into a trunk forever, mannequins became my only access point to this latent desire to have nullified genitalia.”
Okay, I’ll say it: I have trouble making butch friends. Actually, I have trouble feeling like I am a part of the butch community, period.
I thought, “Hey New York, just cause you wear these cool designer bridges across your rivers and you’ve got some graffiti on your interesting architecture, doesn’t mean I have to like you, okay?” But I do like New York in spite of myself.
“Her hair is like another person. Today it’s two braids.”
Hair is a part of my queer ritual.